Step by Step/Issue 2
This is Issue #2 of Step by Step. This is the second issue of Act One. Issue 2 Joseph ducked through the massive blocks of sand bags, bullets whizzing at top speed close to Joe’s skin. Brittle smoke consumed his eyes as he dashed and hit the floor, his gun tight in his hands. “Quarter twelve! Hold the front!” Joeseph felt the chaotic bombs planting themselves on the streets. Roofs of silky, loose smoke deprived his battered lungs of energy. His sweaty chest tightened and his pulse rocketed, the pain was tolerant for now with the uneasy adrenaline setting in. The pain fogged his vision, making every step forward feeling like his feet were deep inside a fat compact ocean of pudding. Aching, bone-crunching misery lashed through his veins. He dropped down to the floor in exhaust, taking deep breaths as he unlatched his helmet and raked through his inky black hair that was drowned in cold sweat. He moaned in drunken affliction. His rifle was buried in the lush grass and he didn’t much give a damn about picking it back up. Why couldn’t they produce a withdrawal? During his local training at Fort Hamilton the sturdy strategy and structure of Withdrawal fascinated him. The retirement of the checkpoint would be benefited by withdrawal, using the destructive impact of the mortars would dissect the crowd. Positioning the remaining into scattered positions and pick them off as they held their ground until support came. If they would ever set out for them. Unexpectedly, a loud thrashing sound of a car plummeting into the avenue sent the light poles that once lit up the streets and in less than a millisecond would destroy the darkness were now broken glass on the sidewalk. The roads soon formed into a void with minimal light offered by chaotic fires. The light pole closest made itself collapse backwards to its death on the infantry front. Two soldiers down in the grass with the rapacious people pounding the incident and savored the pinned couple. Gunshots rampaged soon after at the parade of hundreds of filthy, pungent city-goers shuffling down the streets, glaring at the sky where several aircraft hovered over the chaos. Joseph hit the ground, his feet sticking into a stiff object, for which he wriggled away from. There were so many of them, moaning their annoying groans. Joseph nudged the weeds out of his face. An expensive boot hit the dirt in front of him, washing the weeds into his face again. He looked up to see a fat man wearing a turquoise police uniform, tie strewn across its original position and bent around the left arm where red welts covered the upper arm. The thickset man’s stygian pants hauled the cuffs under the belly of his boots. Joseph didn’t dare to move, breathing hoarsely through his nose as the policeman opened his mouth, a thick bubble of mucus doubling in size. His cracked, raw lips formed a sneer as he caught the scent of human blood. Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot rippled through the air, and when Joseph saw the police officer again his ghostly pale face stared back at him as his last breath sent a whiff of bad breath into Joseph’s face. Joseph slid from the clearing, crawling underneath the canvas of weeds. Bodies fell at his sides, still growling. Some of his allies collapsed as well, and they growled at him too. Nolan Brackenbury let the carbonated drink slip from his hands and into the soiled cot, hitting the bed sheet with little noise while the refugees lit up the room with unanswerable questions. He stopped his stroll to only let the residents pass by him and to the four National Guardsmen that stood on the stadium of the cafeteria. He observed where he was. Drat, had it been that long? He rubbed his sore eyes. The city ought to get their act together, he thought, because I ain’t going to stay here any longer. Nolan had been in the same crowded cafeteria for a week. He came in after the hysteria reached his apartment building. He had found this out when the auto repair shop he worked at closed abruptly one odd morning. Odd. The police had swamped his apartment the next day. They instructed Nolan to go to the school’s refugee camp. He was stunned by the word refugee. Odd. That was a word to describe the situation. Nolan didn’t really care as long as he got his pay and his shut eye in the night. He knew of some people in the cafeteria. He met up with one of his friends from work, Freddie. Freddie was a good pal for the time being. That was until Nolan woke up to find the mechanic hurling nonstop in one of the bathrooms. Next thing Nolan saw was Freddie being shoved into a military truck along with four hesitant men and two wailing woman. That day was odd since one of the women was that blonde chick from the Denny's. She had a paper-pale face and eyes drooling to the floor. Nolan knew her as Sarah, a charmer she was. She had been shoved into the truckload for whatever reason. He would never fond out since Nolan had been kicking it back on his cot. Shut eye was everything, right? “Why are we being held here?” One worried woman would say. “I’ll sue!” shouted a tense man that was sweating insanely in his windbreakers. Maybe you should take the jacket off and take a chill pill, thought Nolan while coming to a stop when two Hispanic policemen came in. The first was a thick, bearded man with tan skin, looking as though his day was getting more tiring by the minute. His partner was much thinner, resembling a pogo stick then a human. The bearded one nodded at the Guardsmen, one of them handing him a megaphone. He put it up to cover his face and registered a couple words. “Settle down please,” The bowling-ball shaped gestured forth a hand. “I'm Officer Pacino. Hello!" “I think...” Nolan craned his head around, finding a man's face that was covered in auburn hair. A man behind Nolan sneezed, snot hitting Nolan’s gray sleeve. “Gotta be joking, hey man can you watch your fluids?” Nolan chuckled lightly and produced a yellowed blanket from his side to wipe the green mucus off when he heard a deep voice shout. “Everyone clear up! Don’t you move,” Nolan turned to see one of the National Guardsmen walk towards Nolan with a hand cropped on his holster and the other man who was equally as frightened. The Guardsman was a bulky, white male with a grizzly look across his face. “It was just a sneeze,” The culprit said. “What did you just say?” Nolan contorted his face as he finished wiping the gunk off his “Don’t play games with me,” He took the gun out. “Where were you this morning?” “Eating out at Denny’s,” he answered, chuckling. The soldier didn’t think it was anything of funny. “After that,” he spat. “There is no after-“ A dark-toned soldier from the stadium walked up behind the questionable man, lifting up his orange and brown shirt, and the crowd watched back in awe. “He’s hit.” There was a hot, cloudy red rash on his abdomen. The white soldier pulled the gun up, shouting, “On your knees!” “Whoa!” The white soldier pressed the gun onto the man’s pale forehead. Nolan stood back as the black Guardsman reached for him, “Did that get on you?” Nolan nodded a no, but that wasn’t enough. The Guardsman grabbed onto Nolan’s arm and took a few seconds to look at the mucus. “Everyone, settle down please.” Pacino said over the bullhorn, but to no avail, the shocked whispers of the crowd succeeded. “I said settle down!” Then the crowd’s whispers ended. Nolan pushed the soldier aside, walking away without a second thought to his cot. “I’m fine, jeez.” He then proceeded to swipe the green snot away with the bed sheet. “Turn around next frickin’ time,” He grinned lightly with a chuckle. The lightly skinned soldier told Nolan to stop before addressing one of the inactive guards by the doors. “Chevrolet, you and Olson stay there.” Marvin Chevrolet waved an okay. He was a red-skinned man, fairly tall with beads of sweat stinging his gray eyes, annoying5 him inside. He nodded to Olson, who was a thin, exhilarating woman in thick military grade padding. Olson fixed her brown hair, smiling back as the two stood to their backs on the double doors. “Know why we got to guard these doors?” She said with a look of impatience. Chevrolet wiped layer after layer of sweat with a damp handkerchief, ignoring Olson as the salt filled his ears. “Hey Earth to Marvin.” “Oh, I’m sorry what?” Olson sighed. “Do you know why we’re guar-“ “I think riots and I heard something about terrorists.” Marvin spat the words. “Really, is that true?” Chevrolet nodded, folding his handkerchief. “I heard it over a radio transmission.” He replied with a flat tone. “This is boring,” She sighed, looking through the door’s rectangle window. The windows were yellowed, stained with ineradicable dirt stains. Olson saw two other guards. The one on the left was handsome, elegant in the military drab. He wore a red beret; arms were crossed behind his back so his camouflaged chest stood out. “Hey, Olson, don’t. Just stand here and do our job. I value this as a living,” Marvin hissed, his French accent rose. Olson scoffed. “You won’t if you’re dead.” “Dead? What do you mean?” Chevrolet looked through the other window, seeing the two fellow Guardsmen opening the door as a handful gun-blazing soldier rushed in, shouting and pointing at the halls. Before Chevrolet could release a horrified statement, a voice hit him. “Stand back, what is happening, soldier?” It was Pacino, who handed the shiny white bullhorn over to Deputy Pogo Stick. Marvin didn’t fancy the man, but knew he had to work alongside him in this situation, but he would admit, the officer’s tense voice pissed him off. “A few other guys are coming in,” Olson blurted, then the door behind her made loud bangs. Pacino pushed her aside, pushing on the bars and pushing out the door to let the men in. The first one he saw was tall, around six feet, with freckled white skin that thanked Pacino about letting them in. “Sergeant Menster told us to get in and secure the cafeteria.” Carter wiped the sweat from his freckles. He scanned his hand, chuckling to himself at the thought of him erasing the very freckles upon his bright, red face. Pacino smiled. “Of course, what is the status?” “The infected are everywhere, the others outside are coming in here to.” All these protocols and Carter hadn't seen Joe. He cursed at his sergeant through his thoughts. “Sergeant said it’s to help load more civilians to the army bases.” “Ah good. The name’s Officer Pacino, this is my deputy, Hartman.” “Corporal Carter Jameson,” Carter replied. “Great to have you with us Mr. Jameson,” Pacino said with a big breath of air. “Fresh air. The air conditioning is off so this is about as natural as can be.” He then strayed back to the stage with his strangely lanky partner. Marvin heard to the end of the talk, jumping in front of Carter. “What’s going on outside?” Marvin blurted, “I want to know, now.” Carter didn’t respond at first. How could he with some guy's nose poking him in the eye? Walking past Marvin. “It’s classified,” Carter pulled his load up the steps while taking heavy breaths. Minutes before Carter had been breathing in gun smoke and ash. For hours it seemed and now he was getting light headed. “Agent Freckles.” Marvin shouted, grabbing onto Carter’s shoulder. He dug his fingernails through Carter's uniform with a fierce attachment. Carter shrugged and brushed off Marvin's sweaty palm and began to walk the steps up. “Back to your station.” “Shows your lack of judgment,” Carter turned around with a disgusted look. “Say it again” Carter backfired, “to my face.” “What’re you deaf? Couldn’t hear me the first time?” Carter swore at Marvin. The brat wasn't worth his time. “Back off, runt,” he said and then continued up the steps. “We’re just about as high up the ranks as him! We need to be notified of something, he didn’t look quite satisfied with my question.” Olson laughed, clapping her hands as she turned to see Marvin with hands at his sides. “You just made my day Marv.” - Carter Jameson adjusted his shirt, scraping off the man’s spittle. What was his problem..., Carter thought to himself, looking Deputy Hartman who spoke into a microphone attached to the breast of his turquoise shirt. He watches the Guardsmen drag a man away and into a dark office. Their prisoner slammed against the blue wall, kicking down a flourishing plant in an orange vase. The mass then exploded on impact into millions of tiny pieces. The white Guardsman seemed to yell and put more pressure on the man’s arm. The other soldier opened the door with a lock and the other shoves the man in. Then the door shuts behind them. Carter gulps, frightened by the thoughts of what the soldiers would do to the man. Carter took in a breath from his mouth, wanting to look outside. The outside city was the up-to-date news channel, or the fresh buzz on the Internet. You could see everything outside in action. Cars were honking as they slammed down on their pedals and people on the sidewalk screamed bloody murder. He looks down to see the present faces stare at him. Too many faces laid eyes on him. They watched his sweat hit the floor. He didn’t like the people eying his moves, as if he were an interesting alien that lived on the Red Planet. He paid a view at the outside scenario; a few gigantic helicopters flew aside tall, slender buildings. They soared away, getting smaller and smaller and then disappearing into the morning sun. “Hey you, yeah you!” A panicked man shouted, terror highlighted his voice. “There’s a kid over here having a seizure or something!” He pointed to an open circle where a child laid, adults gawked at the sidelines. Carter reached for his gun holster, jumping from the stage. “Everyone clear up! Clear up!” He shouted, prodded the crowd, the masses protested, yelling for immediate action. “Save the boy!” A white businesswoman hissed, smacking Carter’s forearm repeatedly. Carter nudged his arm at her chest, ushering her to the other direction while yelling for others to spread out. The boy jerked forward on the floor, his right arm twisted in an awkward motion, bubbling foam escaping through his lips that wanted to scream, but choked on the foamy mass. A woman was crouched over the boy sobbing as she dug her fingers into his little body. “Lady, I need you to stand up and make some room,” Carter touched her shoulder; it was cold to the touch. Carter got no response, moving her farther in an attempt to crouch down next to the boy. “What happened to him?” Carter couldn’t meet eye-to-eye with the woman but she muttered something. “Speak up, please.” The crowd closed in on the situation, embracing it with boisterous chatter. He shouted back at the people, then told Chevrolet and Olson to form a perimeter. The boy’s chest rose up, and then hit back down just as fast, the foaming stopped as blood seeped out and onto the woman’s hands. “Come on, we need you to move lady.” The woman’s face snapped back at Carter, opening her mouth and clamping her mouth onto his forearm. He pounded his right fist into her head, and after a couple blows she hit the floor groaning. Carter moaned in agony, cupping the bloody wound and staring petrified at the woman. Her eyes were sore red, sunken deep into her skull. Her skin was ghostly gray and thick, oily blisters bloomed at the sides of her neck. She ferociously growled at the crowd, who too looked back in dismay and panic. “Oh god, that’s sick!” A teenager said with thrill, “she’s a vampire like the ones in the books!” Olson sighed, pushing the teenaged girl backwards. “Marvin, your face is pale.” Marvin felt his face. The damp, ghostly skin frightened him. “Just forget it! Control these people!” Marvin felt a woozy sensation so he took two breaths of air as Officer Pacino turned on the bullhorn. “Remain calm everyone!” Pacino handed the device to Deputy Hartman, and brushed through the stage curtains to see a line of people waiting to enter the military tents. “Hartman, how many people are we checking at this rate?” Hartman coughed, “Two doctors and a couple nurses,” He sighed with his half-assed attitude. “Good enough.” “Good, good. We already have some people with the symptoms.” “I don’t blame them. I blame the lack of cooperation.” Hartman brushed his forehead. For a while he had been subject to multiple waves of nausea. He wasn’t sure he could hold it back and maintain his position. “Hartman, are you okay?” “Yeah, except the fact this place is hot as hell.” No air conditioning, are you kidding me, the policeman heeded. Blasted city council can't even support the A/C. “Need some coffee?” Hartman scrunched his face up. “I’m good Pacino, and that’s that!” Hartman lightened up, slapping the shoulder of his pal. “Who needs a rush when you got all this rave.” Pacino bit his lower lip. Things weren’t going as he hoped. He had been lodged in this school for the past few weeks and had heard little communication from his superiors. Hector Pacino was, deep inside, imploding with suppressed rage. How could they, his officers, not respond to his pleas of more manpower? The National Guard road block outside was the only response he had been given. Hector knew the department wouldn’t reward him for the past. Right now when he and the refugees needed most they could care less. Bastards they were. Bastards. He glanced at his lethargic partner. The giraffe swayed his head back and forth often eying the tents. Hartman was the result of his wishes. His partner was a weary stick who cared less than the people who commanded Hector. Hector Pacino realized Hartman was a perfect partner. Hector looked over Hartman's shoulder to see one of the tents crumble, some of the people in line falling as if their legs turned to jelly. “What the hell! Hartman did you see that?” The array of tents crumbled with the people lined up to them. The doctors and nursing aids fell too in a heap of bodies over the tarpaulin of the tents. Hector looked down and saw Hartman on his knees, dying for a breath of air as a hot rash appeared on his hands and face. Hartman’s hands feebly grabbed onto Hector’s pant legs, but Hector took a step back. What could he have done anyways? What could the god damn governor have done? He reached for the microphone on Hartman and yanked it off. He put his lips to the mike.He flicked it on as his hands hardened and pain struck him. Hector shot a glance to his partner who was now his former partner. Poor Hartman. He died there on the oak flooring of the stage like a gutted hog. Trying to reel in breath for breath, but every gasp was short lived. Is that going to happen to me? Hector grimaced and started backing up to the stage curtains. Before he could make out any words he hit the floor with a muffled grunt. He grabbed a fistful of the light blue curtains when he fell through it and soared to the air. The last thought the officer could bare before striking the concrete floor was short lived as well. The crowd from outside and below aaaahed. Hector's last thought raced through his mind as his face slapped the floor hard. A deep, sheering crack like that of broken china plates echoed through him. I guess no one could handle the gravity of the situation...